The Photos
by AsianCutie93
Summary: Written by Kang Jae Gyu and myself. Alfred and Ivan's relationship viewed in the snapshots kept in the storage closet.
1. Chapter 1

I am very happy. Another Russia/America fic, but written with help from **Kang Jae Gyu**!

Seriously, Kang Jae Gyu does such a great job with my fics... I don't know how she stands my crappy writing before she makes it great! XD

Enjoy!

Chapter 1

Alfred tried to clean his storage closet... again. He didn't really want to - his worst memories _festered_ in that room - but he knew he would have to tend to it eventually. Finally, on August of 1976, at a little over 200 years old, Alfred ventured into his closet. The walls had a thin layer of dust on them. He felt apprehensive, but charged in anyway. Sadly, he didn't watch where he was going and the American tripped over an old photo album. Alfred cursed, and was about to throw the thing into the wall when a photo slipped out from its place. The door creaked as it suddenly closed, leaving the room completely dark. The blonde cursed again, getting up and groping the wall for a light switch. When he found one and had the lights shining, he gently picked the old photo up to examine it.

It was a picture of him and Russia, shaking hands during the Civil War era.

Alfred dropped the photograph as if it scalded him.

The treacherous image fluttered downward, landing next to its wicked co-conspirator, the photo album.

Somewhere in his brain a levee broke, unpleasant memories flooded in, and he was helpless to stop them.

It was complicated during _that_ time. Even though America was established as a nation, Alfred was not the only America anymore. He faced a foe with his face, who believed slavery was right and was God's will. Alfred, on the other hand, believed that slavery was totally against everything America was supposed to stand for. He couldn't turn to his usual on-again, off-again allies, England and France, for they were trading with the enemy for cotton. During those days, Alfred would cry himself to sleep, just wanting everything to end. He wanted to be a hero, but it took such a massive tole on his physical condition that he actually _lost_ several pounds in a week or less. It wasn't out of starvation, but rather sheer depression.

There was never any true progress on either side. Alfred's Union was able to transport and communicate better than the Confederacy, but the other America was getting money from Europe.

Everything changed on a rainy day. He was sending letters to troops near the borders when a tall, muscular, pale blonde man walked in. Alfred couldn't help but feel small in front of him. The man was certainly in much better shape than him, even when Alfred was healthy and eating well. What really glued the American's eyes to the man was his skin; it was so light, and against the rain in the background seemed to have a ghostly glow. It frightened him yet fascinated him at the same time. It wasn't until he looked at minor details did he realize that this was no American. This stranger's uniform was dark gray, with a light grey trim at the edges. The double breast buttons on the jacket and the embellishment of medals and other awards proved he was a soldier, but they were unfamiliar to Alfred. The only thing that didn't scream soldier was his clean, beige scarf. The man smiled at him; the action seemed strange and forced, but then again Alfred didn't really judge people very well.

"Hey there, you don't look like you belong here."

"No, I do not." His accent was very thick and his English was awkward-sounding. Even though there weren't many Russian immigrants in America, Alfred knew he was Russian.

"Well, nice of you to visit, stranger. What's your business here?"

"I am the representative of Russia, like you are of America. I would like to help you, Union America."

This shocked Alfred. Someone in another part of the world wanted to be on his side? The American stayed silent. The only sounds were the creaks of the little movements the Russian's feet made in anticipation of Alfred's answer. Eventually, Alfred became embarrassed after realizing he hadn't responded to Russia.

"Ah, sorry about that. Of course I would like an ally. God knows I've gone crazy doing this by myself," he said, and got up to be face to face with the Russian.

"I can assure you I am the master of insanity," the Russian said with a smile. Alfred laughed, not knowing the truth of his words.

"Well, didn't know that anyone in Europe had a sense of humor, but um... you shouldn't call me Union America, that just sounds weird... just call me Alfred." The American held his hand out to the Russian. The taller blonde smiled, grasping the other's palm in a firm handshake.

"If I must call you Alfred, it would only be fair if you call me Ivan."

It was a happy moment in a time of war: the simple gesture of hands joining together. What they didn't realize is that this wasn't just a handshake for becoming allies. This was a handshake for the beginning of their history together.

Well, Alfred hadn't known that any history with Russia wasn't pretty...

Alfred shook his head, leaned down and put the photo back in its proper place. What a horrible memory to bring up. A memory to taunt him about what was happening now.

It was just earlier that day, too. He had woken up that morning, grumpy after he stubbed his toe onto a bedpost. Alfred cursed while walking slowly to the kitchen. His days were lonely lately, usually him just doing chores around the house and going into the tool shed to try to invent something that would outdo a certain Russian.

Just like any of these days, the morning felt tiring. For about three to five minutes, he would get on his tiptoes trying to reach the top shelf in the cabinet of his kitchen. Alfred wondered why he would _always_ put the Frosted Flakes back in the same place at the end of every morning for several years, even though he would have to go through this frustrating ritual _repeatedly_ as a result. The hungry American would eventually grab it with the tips of his fingers, finally retrieving his prize. Following his ritual, he held the box against his chest, muttering something about heros accomplishing any task they face before putting it on the counter to get milk. Eventually Alfred would get his beloved cereal in the morning, and eat it while watching television on the couch.

On most days, he would haphazardly flip through channels, but there was a figure on the screen that stayed his hand.

It was Russia, Ivan Braginski, and he was on an angry rant.

His typically calm face was flushed with anger. The red tint made his violet eyes seem dark like coal. Even though Ivan was doing his speech in what would be perceived as a blizzard in America, his words were biting and full of fire. With every word, the Russian's body would quake in passion. Alfred felt his blood run cold. When he read the translated captions on the screen, his heart - like Ivan's did on occasion - nearly burst through his chest.

"Those filthy pigs will not beat us! I assure you all, standing before me! Russia will rise and the American greed will fall before our greatness!"

The roar of the people's cheers only made Alfred feel worse. He pushed his breakfast away from him, letting it splatter on the floor as he curled his legs to his chest. Alfred squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop any tears dripping down. His teeth clenched down hard against each other, preventing any sobs excaping his lips. The American was unsuccessful, tears now slowly staining his blue pajama pants. He couldn't help but feel like such a fool. It was pitiful to think that he once considered this man to be the love of his life. He didn't understand how this same man who spewed words of hatred towards him was the same man who used to hold him gently at night. The Ivan who showed him that love making was not sexual gratification, gave him comfort in the turmoil of war, and taught him about keeping in touch with family no matter what comes between you.

Alfred tried to wipe the tears away by using his forearms, but as soon as he let go of his legs, he turned on his side and cried harder. He couldn't stop the sobbing and his body felt like it was about to burst. Unknown muscles contorted and contracted, and a chill ran down his spine. What was really a couple of minutes felt like hours of crying to Alfred. A hero wasn't supposed to break down into tears. His toes curled, and he couldn't stop his body from convulsing.

Needing to snuff out his misery, he had tried distracting himself with cartoons. Mercifully, the mindless images had slowly drowned the thoughts of Ivan.

However, now he had the photo album still open - maybe he just felt like being a masochist - and he looked at another picture. This one was taken during World War II at Arthur's house...

Matthew was taking a picture of him and Russia sitting on a table outside. He smiled when the picture came out just the way he wanted it, and handed it to Alfred.

"Here you go," Canada said in his usual soft voice and handed the photo to his twin. The soft breeze made his hair tickle his nose, making him wrinkle it. Alfred smiled at Matthew; the Canadian (when noticable) was adorable. He then ran back to England's side to make sure Arthur didn't burn anything. England had invited all of the allies to his house to have a day of normal, summer backyard grilling. The war had taken these days of leisure from them, and drained them of youthful and happy times. Everyone thought it was a great idea to stop thinking about the battle field. It would be less worrisome, however, if the Englishman didn't insist on cooking. Dark smoke came from the grill Arthur was working at, and the Canadian barely made it in time to salvage the food.

"Why does England bother? Canada or France is just going to end up throwing away what he made and cook better food. So wasteful," Ivan said, taking a sip of water. Even though England kept vodka in his freezer, Ivan hated it. He called it a cheap imitation that he was surprised a "gentleman" like Arthur had. Of course, only after fighting with the man for several minutes did Russia give up and drink water, though he still didn't seem happy about that. Then again, Russia had had a lot of pent up anger.

"Well, that's what makes him cute and motherly-"

"Even with those huge eyebrows?" Ivan interrupted. The American was shocked; Ivan, his lover, _never_ interrupted him.

"Uh... yeah. Ivan, are you okay?" Alfred asked. He put his right hand on the communist's left hand, softly rubbing it. Ivan sighed when he looked into Alfred's concerned eyes.

"Alfred... I am still struggling with myself right now. You know how my people feel about you and England," he paused to drink, "but I love you for Alfred, not America... but it's still so hard because I feel both feelings at the same time. I am sorry, I will try to control myself. You are obviously able to."

"Actually, there are some days that I want to bop you on the head in frustration - I can't lie about that - but like you said, that's the part of you that is Russia that does that to me. Not Ivan," Alfred confessed. Both felt awkward admitting that they possessed a degree of hate for each other. After all, they had been together since Russia helped him win the Civil War, but as with any relationship, there is a chaos. Unfortunately, their chaos was very explainable, which made it seem like they should be able to easily solve their problems... a fact that made their situation all the more frustrating.

The couple didn't do anything but hold hands as they waited for food. No longer did they look into each others' eyes or speak, otherwise unkind words might have exploded from them. Their relationship was like walking on cracking glass: they both danced around the crack and tried not to acknowledge it. As they continued this dance, the crack became all the larger.

"Here you go, Al, and don't worry, eh? I made sure to handle both of you guys' food personally." Matthew handed them two plates. Both the plates contained a large T-bone steak seasoned with a bit of salt and pepper, some chopped potatoes smeared with butter and cheese, and spinach garnished with some feta cheese.

Alfred grinned, licking his lips with his excess saliva building in his mouth and grabbed his fork and steak knife at his left. Ivan smiled. This part of Alfred was always cute; his hunger for food that could barely be filled. However, as soon as he stuffed a bite into his mouth and chewed so happily, the Russian gasped. He immediately stood up from his seat and walked off into England's house.

America thought it was strange, considering that the Russian was heading for the garage; the part of England's house that got bombed by Germany. The smaller man raced after him, leaving a confused Canadian twin behind. Alfred grasped Ivan's right arm tightly when he finally caught up to him, only for Ivan to brush it aside. He then used both of his strong arms to twist the Russian around and make Ivan's eyes meet his own.

"Ivan-"

"I am sorry Alfred, I just... I am not myself right now. I am Russia," he sighed. His control over his body would fool anyone, but not Alfred. The American knew his lover was on the edge, if he didn't chase after him he would have tears down his face. Alfred sighed and pulled the other into an embrace. The American's head rested against Ivan's shoulders, breathing in the soft smell of watermelon. Ivan's body was still tense. His arms were afraid to wrap around Alfred's waist and his body kept fidgeting. Alfred sighed, knowing that this wasn't working, and slowly pulled away.

"Do you still want to sleep in the same room tonight?"

"Of course, Alfred, of course."

They both looked at each other. They had their fake smiles painted on their faces. Alfred turned around to return to his food, though he truly didn't have much of an appetite anymore.

They both went to bed around 10pm after they had showered and gotten dressed. Alfred sat on the left side of the bed, reading the English newspaper. It was mostly on criticism of American troops. Ivan sat on the right, drinking a smoothie with blueberries, strawberries, and pinapples. The mix of smooth juice and the chunkiness of the unground fruits made the tall man smile. It was very hard to get large amounts of fruit in his country. Many people actually gave oranges to the ones they loved for Christmas because they were so rare. He took another sip of his drink before looking at his boyfriend. It was odd to see Alfred reading. His eyes would squint a little and his posture would be similar to England's gentleman act. This was the only influence of England's that he could truly see in Alfred.

"Alfred," Ivan whispered, grasping the newspaper gently and putting it on the nightstand.

"Yeah?"

"I love you," he said, and pulled the other man on top of him. Alfred squealed before covering his mouth with his left hand; after all, this was still Arthur's house!

"Ivan-"

"Please Alfred, I need you to be one with me. I want you to take control tonight."

It wasn't that it was uncommon for Alfred to be on top when they had intercourse, but it was strange that the Russian specifically asked for it. He looked down at him; Ivan's eyes showed no signs of joking. Alfred smiled, pressing his lips against Ivan's softly.

"I love you too, Ivan. Alright, lets do it," he gently consented, pressing his lips against his Russian's again. After two short kisses did Alfred stop to swipe his tongue against Ivan's lower lip. Ivan teased, not opening his mouth, making the American frustrated. Alfred resorted to other measures and grazed the sensitive skin between his teeth. The Russian still kept his lips closed, until finally Alfred bit down hard. His gasp from the other man's aggressiveness led to Alfred's tongue finally snaking its way into his mouth. He tasted the sweetness of the smoothie Ivan had a couple seconds ago, pressing his tongue harder to get even more of the taste.

The Russian whimpered, not used to being so submissive to the American. His body shuddered as Alfred's hands unbuttoned his thick pajama shirt, his cold flesh being warmed by the other blonde's hands. Ivan wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, further pressing his body to any touch Alfred was giving him. Alfred broke away from their heated kissing to make a trail of soft kisses on Ivan's jaw. The Russian sighed. The soothing kisses brushed away any tension he had. It was a sharp contrast to Alfred's left hand rolling his nipple between his index and middle finger. This was always the way Alfred dominanted; he was gentle, yet firm. He lulled one into a sense of relaxation, only to surprise with a rough touched elsewhere. Ivan's body felt a surge of blood rushing through it. His hands instinctively grasped Alfred's hair, sighing as Alfred's hands tauntingly moved slowly down his abdomen.

As soon as the hands reached the waist band of Ivan's pajamas, they would crawl back up to his hardening buds. There were alternating kisses and rough bites against the base of his neck. Ivan's legs tightened around Alfred's strong thighs, his half hard erection straining the elastic of his pajama bottoms. Alfred smiled as he felt the Russian's arousal against his stomach. He flicked his tongue around the dark pink nipple. Ivan's small gasps and the thrusting of his chest forward made Alfred grin. The American brushed his smooth teeth against the sensitive skin, reddening it.

Ivan's hands trailed down to the top of Alfred's back, massaging the tense muscles. Alfred mewed softly before fingering the waistband of Ivan's pants. He chuckled when he saw that Ivan was turned on to the point the elastic didn't touch his stomach anymore. He pulled them down slightly, and Ivan's cock sprang up immediately. Ivan gasped, happy that he was no longer restricted by his pants.

"You didn't wear any underwear?"

"England's weather is too hot for that."

"Hm... I should take you Texas or Arizona after the war. You'll run around naked there."

Russia laughed. Alfred took this opportunity to reach for the unfinished fruit smoothie, took a big sip, and placed it back on the nightstand. He chewed on the cold chunks of ice a couple of times before taking the head of Ivan's cock. Ivan groaned from the suddenly sucking on his appendage. The ice cold smoothie and the heat of Alfred's tongue massaged the sensitive head, while the warmth of the American's hands pumped whatever wasn't in his mouth.

Alfred groaned as he slurped more of the drink while sucking on Ivan's thick organ. The tingling of twirling his tongue with the crushed ice against Ivan's heated skin made his mouth numb. When the taste of the fruit and the rush of cold was gone, he pulled back, pressing his tongue against the slit of the head. His hands rubbed the dripping saliva all over the enormous appendage while his eyes locked with Ivan's. Ivan always loved the way Alfred looked at him when he had such control over him. There was this special sparkle, a gold tint like the color of beach sand that seemed to wink at him, as if to taunt him about how the other had so much control or to boast silently how sexy he was and how Ivan wanted him.

"Ivan," Alfred whispered against his dick, licking the sides up and down ever so slowly. His eyes darted toward the cold drink and back to the Russian. Ivan nodded, and held the drink so that it was close to Alfred. The American smiled before swirling three of his fingers into the concoction. He swallowed the head of Ivan's dick as he continued to twirl his fingers in the freezing mix. Ivan could barely hold the drink as his cock buried further into Alfred's moist cavern. Alfred went halfway before the head tickled the back of his throat. He moaned around the wide girth, sending vibrations that made Ivan tingle. Russia's hips tried to get more inside, but Alfred would just pull back. Ivan didn't know Alfred's hand was no longer playing around in the smoothie until he felt a finger stretch him. The cool liquid that coated the finger acted as a lubricant.

"God bless America..." Russia gasped. It had been a couple of weeks since he had Alfred inside of him. The probing digit rubbed against his walls, slithering deeper into his depths. The cold temperature almost numbed him, as the finger was searching for the nub that would make him scream.

The other man's tongue kept assaulting his hard on, distracting him from the numbness inside him. It wasn't until he felt the his prostate brushed against did he bite back a groan.

"Shh, we're in England's house, Ivan. You don't want to wake everyone, do you?" Alfred thrust two fingers inside him, pressing ever harder against the bundle of nerves. Ivan bit his lip harder, his body shivering from the rush of fire running through him. Despite his efforts, a muffled moan escaped. Alfred smirked, and sucked on the tip of Ivan's cock furiously as he moved his fingers. The American bobbed his head, taking more of the length as he moved down. When the head slid against his throat, he slid a third finger inside of Ivan. The invading appendages thrashed inside Ivan, stabbing his prostate. Ivan's head thrashed almost as violently, his fingers squeezing the sheets beneath them. Alfred removed his fingers and his mouth, making the Russian whine softly from the lack of stimulation.

"Look at me, Ivan," Alfred demanded, but he didn't get Ivan's attention until he unintentionally moaned. Ivan's eyes widened slightly at the sight of Alfred smearing globs of smoothie against his own cock. The drink wasn't as cold to the touch, but there was still ice particles that melted from Alfred's heat. The shorter man stared intensely at Ivan, make sure to get every inch slick with the elixir. Ivan desperately wanted to lick the drops that fell onto the sheets, but Alfred used his left hand to hold his hip back. Once the American thought his organ was lubricated enough, he grasped Ivan's legs and pushed them back so they almost touched Ivan's ears. He looked at Ivan with a haze of lust in his eyes as he slid his dick into the tight passage. Alfred pushed slowly, allowing Ivan to adjust as he inched in.

When he pushed all of the way inside, he looked down at the place where their bodies met. His length inside the Russian's hole was quite a sight to behold. The other's anus was usually red from the treatment of being stretched, but the ice from the smoothie seemed to calm it down. Alfred smirked as he watched himself pull out about half way before slowly going back in.

"Alfred, stop being a voyeur and fuck me," Ivan groaned. Alfred leaned forward, pushing his cock even deeper, and shoved his tongue into Ivan's mouth. Their tongues danced, sliding and brushing against each other and Alfred pulled out and slammed right in. Both Ivan and Alfred hissed. Ivan's muscles spasmed as the nerves inside him were brutally stabbed by Alfred's length. The thrusts were slow and hard, for Ivan was still adjusting. They never had to command the other that enough was enough, they knew the limits of each others' bodies. A pair of hands firmly grasped his hips, almost enough to bruise. Ivan moaned as Alfred moved at a faster pace. With the Russian's hips anchored in his grasp, Alfred sped up his movements. Ivan wrapped his arms around Alfred's neck, his nails scratching lightly against the skin. Alfred knew that the nails digging into his skin was Ivan's silent language saying to fuck harder. He shoved his cock into Ivan's body, lifting the legs higher to get even deeper into his lover. Ivan's lips bled as he suppressed his mews and cries, his hips trying as best as they could to meet Alfred's swift movements. The burning fire inside just kept building up as Alfred continued to glide in and out of him.

The sensation of being filled by Alfred made Ivan shudder. His mind wasn't in control anymore and his body was just reacting to every single movement or touch that Alfred willing gave. Alfred held Ivan back for a second before grabbing the lukewarm drink. He sloshed it around in the glass before spilling it over Ivan's face and chest. Alfred drove his cock even deeper into his Russian lover, lapping up excess smoothie on Ivan's chest. Ivan licked his lips, groaning at the feeling of the wet substance cooling his skin and Alfred's tongue greedily sucking it up.

Ivan could feel his release building up inside him and made his left hand jerk his own cock in time with Alfred's thrusts. Alfred lifted himself up to look at Ivan. Ivan's body was drenched in sweat and smoothie juice, his lips red from the abuse of holding back his groans, and his hand hurriedly rubbing his thick, long cock. Alfred's pace gained even more speed. There was no rhythm, just harsh pounding.

"Ivan..." Alfred sighed, shoving all of his length into Ivan's willing body. The gush of Alfred's cum filling him made Ivan spill all of his essence against their chests, stomachs, and his hand. The tightening of his muscles made more of Alfred's cum fill him. Alfred took a hand to the traces of Ivan's semen on his chest. He swiped it quickly and licked it off of his finger. Alfred grinned as Ivan watched him lick off the Russian's cum, the sight seemingly inducing a trance-like state. The spell was broken when Alfred pulled out. Ivan winced as he felt empty, and the American returned to the left side of the bed. Ivan opened a drawer to grab some tissues to wipe them clean and Alfred smirked at him.

"What is it, Alfred?"

"It's just... I'm not used to you asking for me to be inside you."

"... I don't know why, to be honest. For some reason I wanted to be close to you."

Alfred wrapped his left arm around Ivan's waist. "You don't have to explain yourself, Ivan. I know with the war and everything going on things have gone crazy. I know I have."

Ivan smiled. "But as I said when the first time I met you, I am the master of insanity."

Alfred laughed and they kissed each other on the lips...

Alfred sighed and sat on the floor, his back against a box. He closed the album and pulled it to his chest. He felt the familiar feeling of tears, and he didn't stop them this time. They flooded his shirt, his sobs hitting his body full force.

"Why is it like this...? Why?" he continued to cry. He didn't even hear the footsteps in his house or Arthur's voice calling his name. It was only when the door opened did Alfred attempt to stop crying and look at his unexpected visitor. The Englishman kneeled down, putting his hand on Alfred's broad shoulder.

"Alfred..." England sounded very concerned for his ex-colony. It was unusual that Alfred would cry. The only one he knew of that could do that to America was his brother.

Alfred looked as if he was about to respond, but he couldn't. Only more cries and tears broke out, and Arthur sighed. He knew Alfred wouldn't open up to him, so he would call Canada later. He scooped Alfred into his arms just as he had done in the past and carried him to his room. The shorter, blonde man gently lay Alfred onto the bed and pulled the soft sheets over his body.

"It's alright, Alfred, just go to sleep," Arthur murmured. Alfred nodded, tears still coming out of his eyes. Arthur didn't like to see America like this. Despite all the history and hardship they had, Alfred was still his little brother. His little brother that was crying and extremely upset and he didn't know why.

Within minutes, Alfred slipped into the world of sleep. Arthur kissed him on the top of his head and left.

End of Chapter 1

Oh Alfred... I hate it when you're sad! ;_; I wish to hug him.

Thank you to anyone who is reading. I hope you review because I'd love to see what you think!


	2. Chapter 2

The magic of this story that my editor used to bring is gone due to her being so busy. I hope that you still enjoy it though.

Chapter 2

It was a little after Alfred's birthday on the sixth of July of the year of 2010. The morning light was shining through all the windows of the house. Alfred on days like this, would usually go outside and hang out with the whale and Tony, but Alfred was too busy packing all his things. He was moving into a new house, one bigger than his current home. The American hummed his national anthem as he worked. His alien friend was also helping with the move, grabbing objects with his small gray hands and putting them in random open cardboard boxes. Alfred would have told Tony to put them in the boxes he desired, but his body was so filled with happiness about the move that he didn't care. His new home was with the man he loves. He sighed and grinned just thinking about the new memories he was going to make.

"Our lives are going to be great together," he whispered to himself.

He checked his bedroom to see if there was anymore things needed to be put in the moving van. The American could only see blank walls that used to have war posters and framed photos of his friends and a bare floor that used to support his bed, nightstand, and drawers. Alfred went into Tony's room, and saw it was empty as well. The guest room had nothing important needed, so it was left alone. His house wasn't sold yet, but he thought the new family that would eventually live in this house could use the furniture still in the room to good use. Once he checked every room he could think of, he past by a slightly opened door. He poked his head into the place to see it was his storage closet, still untouched. Apparently the alien didn't want to be in there as much as Alfred.

"Thanks Tony. You're really a big help." Alfred remarked sarcastically.

He no longer heard the patter of Tony's feet scurrying around the grounds. The gray creature was probably arguing with the whale in the backyard. Alfred never understood why the two never seemed to get along, but at least Tony wasn't as hostile to the whale as he was to England. The American was never good as "reading the atmosphere" but he knew that "fucking limey" wasn't a term of endearment.

"At least Tony will be happy that he won't see England as often in the new house. Haha, Iggy hates my new pad."

Alfred turned his attention back to the storage closet. He swung the wood door open wider, and went in. He had to shuffle around the empty boxes and continued to packing process. The old trinkets that he still wanted to keep were placed in the empty box while the ones he didn't want were left in their place. As he sifted through which ones to take or leave behind, his eyes wandered onto what appeared to be a dusty book. The blonde was not an avid reader, and assumed that it was one of Arthur's old books from his colony days. The elder man must have left it behind after the revolution ended. The blonde decided that he should try to give it back to the elder man, so he leaned over to his right and reached for it with his right hand. Once he obtained the book, he brushed his left hand over the cover and spine, the dust flying into the air surrounding him. The American frowned when he saw no title and opened it up. It was not a book as he suspected, but actually a photo album. The same one he looked at in 1976.

Alfred noticed too late that he was holding the photo album upside down and couldn't stop the five photos from leaking out. He sighed and got on his knees to pick them up.

"Man this sucks, I almost feel as old as England, or even China! Ah, a nightmare come true," he laughed. Alfred snatched up the first photo and looked at it to see where he needed to go in the album. It was a photo of him and Arthur dancing on a pub table in Victory in Europe day...

It was around one in the morning and all the allies were celebrating the end of combat in Europe. Canada was mixing his alcoholic drink with maple syrup, making the mixture burn his throat and possibly rot his teeth. His low tolerance to alcohol made the usually unnoticeable boy have to cling onto his old father figure, France. Francis didn't seem to mind, as he busied himself with wine and running his fingers through Matthew's soft hair. Matthew mumbled something about making sure that Kumajirou didn't get any alcohol and waved lazily to his brother.

Alfred smirked back at the Canadian as he continued to do a drunken can-can dance with England. As they danced, England clung onto the American, singing "God save the Queen" with a drunken slur. Alfred was overly cheerful thanks to the whiskey and laughed at the older man's antics. Arthur was still holding a rum bottle to his chest as if it were his lover and guzzled it down while they danced. The taller blonde grew bored and then started to flail Arthur around for his entertainment. He was met with some protest, but the American was too strong for Arthur to stop. The Englishman cursed at his ex-colony and it encouraged Alfred to do it even more. Was what they were doing idiotic? Yes. Did they care? Not tonight, for the Nazis were gone. They were going to allow themselves to make up for not being able to drink and dance cheerfully for six years. Japan was the only one able to fight and they would deal with him later, but tonight was for the Allied forces.

There was only one person that didn't allow all his restraint to blow carelessly into the wind. Ivan Braginski sat at a secluded table in the shady room, taking small sips of vodka as the night went on. His coat was resting on a chair because he needed to let his wounds dry out. There were no longer just gashes from his neck from the Mongols, but some on his arms, chest, and his ankles. Almost every piece of flesh that was exposed had either a gash that was still slightly bleeding or in the process of healing. He winced in pain when he accidentally spilled some vodka onto his wound on his left forearm, but quickly put back on his usual soft smile. To distract himself from the pain, the Russian glanced over at Alfred.

America and England were still dancing around in a ridiculous fashion. The Englishman looked especially foolish, for his clothes were soiled with his spills of alcohol and his face appeared red as a tomato. His grin and his slurred singing didn't help with his appearance either. Alfred was more tolerate of alcohol, but he was a naturally silly American. He was carefree, and kept swinging his dance partner around.

Ivan genuinely smiled. Alfred had a calming affect on him, even in excruciating pain. The key difference being Alfred and not America, a difference that was slowly straining their relationship.

England lost his footing due to Alfred sloshing him around and came crashing down onto his ex-colony and the floor. The taller man laughed while Arthur spewed curses.

"Iggy! What gives man?" The American tried to gently remove the man off him.

"Shut up, argh... I swear the floor is moving underneath me!" Alfred sighed and pointed out "That's because you're on top of me and I'm trying to get you off. Come on old man, lets go."

"Hey, I am not... oh holy, bloody hell. I am drunk. What was I going to say?" Arthur groaned. He attempted to stand up, but fell down on top of the American. He winced and rubbed his chin that collided roughly against the American's chest. Alfred laughed at his former older brother figure and sighed.

"Arthur, if you keep this up, I'll have to charge you for attempted rape!" Alfred joked.

The violet eyed Russian knew it was a joke, but he still didn't appear to be happy about the sound of Alfred's statement and stalked over. He plucked the skinny Englishman off Alfred by the collar of his jacket and sat him on an empty seat. The seat unfortunately was wet with Alfred's spilled whiskey. Arthur did his best to give a harsh glare at the Russia. The thick eyebrowed man was about to scowl at him as well, but then remembered his rum and turned his attention to that. Ivan rolled his eyes at the other man and went back to Alfred. He helped his American lover to stand and help him close to his chest.

"Whoa, Ivan, you're still injured. Don't push yourself." Alfred warned. He was still aware enough to see that Ivan's wounds were still fresh from battle.

"It is alright Alfred. Besides, I like holding you like this."

"Hm... me too." America agreed. He glanced at England and said "Oi England, don't try to rape anymore people tonight. Except France, but its never rape with that man."

"Alfred, I do not know whether to be disgusted or insulted by your comment." It was the last thing Arthur said before plopping to the floor again.

"Christ he's wasted. Why don't we take him back home and crash at his place? I forgot to call my boss for plane tickets to go home anyways." Alfred said.

The Russian nodded. "That appears to be the best plan for this situation. I will go pay for our drinks and you can set him in the backseat of his car. You have his keys, correct?" Alfred nodded at his lover's suggestion and swooped Arthur into his arms. The sleeping man somehow woke up for a couple seconds to protest being carried, but then swiftly went back to sleep. Alfred complained about how he never had to deal with a drunk Englishman when he was younger and wished for those days. Ivan sighed, still not content about how close the two were. He quickly paid for the drinks they consumed, grabbed his tan coat, and raced to Alfred's side.

"That was quick," the American commented. Ivan shrugged, not really knowing how to respond. They continued their slow pace to England's car. When they got there, they set the petite man in the back seat. Alfred was still too drunk to drive and entrusted the task to the Russia.

The car had similar properties to a tank due to its size, which allowed any bumps to be unnoticeable to the sleeping man in the back.

"Ivan, are you okay?"

"Yes, why?"

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were jealous when Iggy fell on me. Huh? Huh? You so were," Alfred smirked. The Russian was glad that he had already a natural blush on his face thanks to the vodka. He mumbled a quiet "of course not" to Alfred's statement, but he knew the American didn't believe him.

When they got to the house, Russia insisted that he carried England into the house. America chuckled softly, knowing with absolute certainty that his boyfriend was jealous and ran to open the front door for Ivan. The Russian set England gently down onto the couch, for if he did it any other way, he was sure to get scolded by Alfred. When he had done this task, he hugged Alfred from behind and kissed his neck softly.

"Someone's in the mood."

"Yes, indeed I am." He began to nibble at the nape of Alfred's neck. Alfred sighed and unconsciously exposed more of his neck to his tall lover.

"Ivan, we're still in England's house..."

The Russian lugged his boyfriend up the stairs and into the usual guest bedroom they occupied during the summer break. He playfully dropped Alfred on the bed, making the bed squeak loudly. Alfred winced at the sudden drop and flicked off his rough lover. Ivan bent down to suckle on the middle finger, making sure his tongue was poking out and lapping at every single piece of flesh. The shorter man had held back a gasp and slowly moved his finger in and out of Ivan's willing mouth. Struggling to hold back his lust, Alfred had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep quiet.

They still faced the same risk as last time. England was passed out on the couch, but that doesn't mean he can't wake up.

The taller man pulled his lips away from the appendage, nipping at the tip of Alfred's finger with his canines before moving on top of Alfred. The American pulled Ivan's hair to bring their mouths crashing together. The rough kiss was already making them sweat through the sheer effort of fighting for dominance. Their tongues curling themselves around each other, both trying to win this game they played. Alfred appeared to be winner when he dragged his nails lightly into Ivan's back, but Ivan pulled Alfred's hair. The tugging at his skull shocked his system, causing Ivan to have a window of opportunity to be victorious. They pulled away, a thing trail of saliva between them snapped and clung to their chins. Ivan's eyes were bright with amusement while Alfred's sky blue were a dark, stormy ocean that were glaring at the man above him.

"You cheated."

"That was only because you cheated first. Besides," the Russian ran his hands, gently this time, through the other's hair, "you enjoy it rough. That's why you are with me."

Alfred sat up to put his glasses on the nightstand and pressed his body against Ivan's. The American challenged the Russian in another duel, now rubbing their solid chests together. Both men sighing in pleasure at the pressure of the other's body. Alfred let out a surprised groan at the bits of pain of his scars being touched. He could feel the Russian smirking against his lips. He pushed him off, to see that damned smirk grow wider.

"You have the pain endurance of a baby." Ivan remarked.

Alfred glared. "Hey, they still hurt."

Ivan rolled his eyes and ripped open his brown shirt. Alfred's eyes bulged and brought a timid hand to the prominent gash. It slashed Ivan's skin above the left nipple and went diagonally down and below Ivan's right breast. It wasn't as deep as the ones on his neck that the Mongols have left, but it was still pretty recent. The blood had dried, and it was still trying to form a scab. It was hard to believe that Ivan's wounds were struggling to heal.

"Ivan... then..." Alfred couldn't say the words.

"Yes, I am not being playful dear. I am really still very weak." There was an awkward silence between them. Alfred's eyes never adverted away from the terrible cut.

"Amazing what war can do to our bodies, yes? I actually got this from the battle of Stalingrad. Germany was especially brutal." The calm tone of his voice only made Alfred even more worried.

"Does that mean you also-"

"Yes, some from England, France, definitely Germany, and maybe some from you and Japan. I cannot remember exactly, but all the big wounds are from Germany. Alfred, what is wrong?"

"The civil war left me with some decent scars too, but Ivan... this is serious."

The taller man shrugged. "I feel pain so often that I can find it almost pleasurable."

"I thought you were a sadist you-" Alfred felt his hand being forced to press against the large wound. He kept resisting, but what was weak in his lover's standards, he was still very strong in comparison. The pressure was so great on the gash that some of the forming scab began to crack and a thin trail of blood broke free. The American watched the red essence flow down the large chest. It continued to speed down Ivan's body, getting trapped in the indents of Ivan's wounds. The shorter man curiously leaned his head forward and lapped up the drying blood with his slippery tongue. The blood that was a personification of the waters of Russia tasted of heavy minerals.

"Alfred..." Russia moaned.

He grabbed the American and forced his lover back onto the bed. Alfred pressed against the wrinkled sheets. Ivan was still entoxicated but that couldn't hold back any animalistic lust for the man below him. Vicious teeth gnawing at the the flesh of Alfred's shoulder, the blood sweetened just a bit with the gin and rum he consumed in the bar. Alfred ran his fingers through his lover's cream colored hair, making it disheveled and tinted slightly with Russia's blood. He groaned at the painful sensations, and lifted his body higher for Ivan's touch. The sharp canines poking into his skin were marking his tan flesh with pock marks.

Instinctively their hips met. Both hissed at the feeling of their clothed lengths coming in contact. Alfred thrust his hips up, rubbing their needs vigorously together. The man above pulled back, staring down at his lover below him. He began to lightly finger at the collar of his American lover's T-shirt. The tight stitching was heightened by his lust hazed mind. Alfred just stared back at him, no longer moving his hips. He knew what the Russian was about to do. At first the tear was small. But at the Russian put more force into it, the tear became larger until Alfred's shirt was split into two. They rushed towards each other and crushed their lips together hard enough to cause bruises to both of them. The American wanted to be closer to Ivan faster, and snaked both his hands between them to get rid of his trousers. Alfred had trouble until his lover understood what he was going and got on his knees to separate them. When they both gotten rid of their pants, they both realized they both weren't wearing underwear. Alfred smirked as he got to his knees as well.

"I am warm, what is your excuse?"

Alfred shrugged. "I'm horny and knew you'd be near by."

The taller man chuckled at the American's blunt response and wrapped his large hand around Alfred's hard shaft. He stroked slowly around the hard muscle, making it twitch in his warm hand. Not wanting to be submissive too easily, America did the same to Russia. It seemed that the pale blonde had the advantage for precum was already dripping from Alfred's cock. There was a large amount leaking out of the American, that Ivan's fingers and the tip of the length were slippery. Alfred held back a groan and leaned forward to talk into the other's ear.

"Hm... Ivan, do you want to know what naughty thoughts I've been having?" Alfred sighed. Ivan gasped. He couldn't help but feel turned on by his boyfriend's husky whisper.

"When you switched sides, I didn't mind at all."

Russia's strokes slowed. He couldn't concentrate on thinking and rubbing the swollen felsh due to the alcohol.

"Why Alfred?"

"I was turned on at the possibilities. I could capture you and make you my sex slave, or..." he paused to give several quick pumps, grinning at Ivan's small hiss before continuing, "... you would keep me prisoner. Doing whatever you want to me. Yes, think of all of the possibilities..."

Alfred was pushed suddenly onto the bed, his legs instinctively high enough to touch his shoulders. Ivan scooted himself between the shorter man's legs. The Russian grunted in disappointment when he realized something.

"Go to the fridge that's down the hall. There's the cheap vodka you hate, use that."

Ivan nodded and rushed to the appliance. He returned with a single bottle in his hands, and wet his left hands fingers with it. The drippings scattered onto the wooden floor of the bedroom, but the Russian continued to pour over half of the drink onto his fingers. Once they were cold and slick, he put the bottle on the floor and returned his attention to Alfred. The younger man was propping his legs up and tried to spred his buttocks farter apart for Ivan. Ivan grinned and slipped into his original position between Alfred's legs. A slick finger slid into his lover, making Ivan smile almost evilly.

A second finger was added quickly, but Alfred kept whining for Ivan to get him prepared faster.

"I want it rough..."

"I know you do Alfred."

A third finger wasn't added. Instead, the two fingers were replaced with Ivan's throbbing erection. He swiftly fit over half of it inside, but Alfred was too tight to push even more. Ivan drew back slightly and then thrust back in, getting ever inch into his needy lover. Alfred pressed back as hard as he could, greedily wanting even more of the large organ to be inside him. The pale blonde drew back slowly, hissing slightly at the contrast of the cool air and the heat of Alfred's body. The length was so long that it seemed that he would have to back up for an eternity to get everything but the tip out. Once he did, he smiled down at his boyfriend and slammed all of it into him.

"Ah god..."

Alfred writhed underneath Ivan. He used his powerful legs and arms to bring his hips upwards, wanting to meet Ivan's every thrust. The friction caused him extreme pain, but he enjoyed it. Ivan kept drawing out slowly and then rushing in, making Alfred moan under him. He wanted more of Ivan's cold and heavy body to press into him. Alfred needed to feel their sweat mingle together in the sheets underneath him. The thing he desired the most though, was faster and harder thrusts from the Russian. Ivan used all of the strength in his body to push deeper into his inviting lover. He spread Alfred's long legs even furthur apart and tried to push even more of his thick appendage into the younger man. The American's innocent face twisted in dark lust and his muscular body contorting and flexing in any way to become one with him, it made Ivan lick his lips. He anchored his hands on each side of Alfred's hips and shoved hard. The Russian tried to tap into any reserve of energy he had and pounded into Alfred. He then got an evil idea and inched his hand towards the shorter man's hair.

The American's hair was roughly pulled, and his cum gushed out like a geyser. The thick liquid spattering in between their stomaches and chests.

Alfred's body was still aroused, and this didn't go unnoticed by the Russian. "So naughty dear Alfred, letting go so easily like a little slut."

Alfred groaned. He began rubbing his hard cock in the same rhythm as Ivan's thrusts. "You're slowing down damn it. Harder!"

Ivan complied, shoving his massive organ into his lover even harder than he had before. It felt as if he were not even in control of his body anymore. Only feeling the pleasure of being one with his lovely American. Alfred couldn't believe how fast Ivan was going and tried desperately to keep up. The high of an orgasm was near for both of them...

Alfred blushed and put the photo back into the album. The American didn't obviously expect such a memory to be kept in his album.

He shifted to the right a couple of times, to reach the next photo. It was a photo of him and Ivan hugging in front of a tent. It was the end of the Civil War...

The air was humid and the sun was setting, causing the sky to turn a soft pink hue. He hugged the older man. No longer would there be tears falling down his cheeks. The war was over, they won. They separated their arms and looked at each other. The intense stare made Alfred blush and he walked away to sit on the slope of the hill, staring at the dazzling stars that were peaking through the sunset. Ivan was throwing dirt into the fire next to their tent, trying to put out the red flame. Once the Russian was done with this task, he joined Alfred in star gazing.

Pink sunset quickly changed to darkness with only the twinkling stars to light it up.

"You know, I've really grown to like your company Russia."

The pale blonde shook his head. "No, it is not Russian companionship you appreciate. You like Ivan."

Alfred shrugged. "Is there a difference when it comes to people like us?"

"Yes, we are not just personifications of our respected countries and the lands that make them up. We are also human, a separate entity that is not as influenced by our country. For example, my favorite food to eat is watermelon, but there are no watermelons in Russia. Another example is my favorite flower, is the sunflower, but my national flower is chamomile. These things are not dictated by Russia's choice, but by my choice, Ivan's choice."

Alfred nodded slowly. The taller man smiled softly and put on on his large arms over Alfred's shoulder.

"I know you do not understand, but maybe I should ask you this. How does your country feel about England?"

"England is a bossy jerk who thinks he can use me just like his other colonies. I stood up for myself and won my freedom and I'm not giving it back. The only thing now that still bothers me, is for... uh, Matthew, that's right, Matthew still needs his independence."

"Then how do you feel about Arthur Kirkland? Is it the same feeling that you have towards England?"

Alfred had a sad smile. "Arthur is always my protective older brother. Granted, a shorter older brother by two inches now. He told me scary ghost stories, cooked for me, and tucked me in at night."

"Do you see how you may have two contradicting opinions on the same thing? This is the difference between the country of England and Arthur. It is the same difference that is America and you, Alfred."

"Yeah, I guess." Alfred turned to the night sky and sighed. "It sucks being one of us, don't it?"

"Why would you conclude to that?" Ivan said, gazing at the twilight.

"Cause you can't help your friends because, if your countries fight, you guys fight. Then the friendship goes-"

"It does not have to always follow that pattern. You could go as Alfred to Arthur's house and spend time with him. It is not my place to tell you what you must or must not do. I would advise you, do this before you become similar to... as you say, us old folks."

"If you know the difference, why don't you follow your advice Ivan?"

"By the time I had come to that revelation, it was too late. I have no more opportunities to have friends. My dear sister, Ukraine, had even become fearful of me. I would not want that to happen to you."

Alfred scooted closer to Ivan. "But you're wrong Ivan. I can still be your friend. But I do wonder, how you feel about both sides of me. Come on, what do you think?"

Ivan sighed. "As a country, you are quite an annoying one. You are a child who believes he has all the answers, but really are just using one experiment after another. Some have been succesful, while others were pitiful. Now that you have dealt with this civil war, there are only two paths to go from this position. You may crumble and suffer times worse than you can ever imagine. You may also become the man and hero you wish to be and have a happy ending to this history. In short, you are an immature child of a country that must either grow up or cease any dreams of success of any kind. Is that a good enough analysis or would you wish to acquire more detail?"

"Sheesh man, you make it sound like I'm some lucky imbecile-"

"In slang terms such as that, yes."

"Hahaha, very funny. Alfred though, what do you think about him? I mean, about me."

Ivan blushed and bowed his head down to try to hide it. "To be blunt and honest with you comrade, my first impression was that you were an annoying brat suffering from father or older brother issues. I thought you would be a grand target to manipulate and use for personal gain. Do not give me that glare silly Alfred, I was explaining my initial impression. That opinion of you has been replaced. You are definitely as innocent as I thought you were, but you hold a certain intelligence. When this is mixed with your child-like imagination, you grasp genius ideas that no other has thought of. If a person were to describe how I feel about Alfred, they would definitely say that I am extremely fond of you."

Alfred's right eyebrow rose, as if expecting something different. "Fond of me? Is that all? People are fond of rabbits or houses. Answer this, do you care about Alfred?"

Ivan's round face grew a darker shade of blush. "Yes."

"Do you love Alfred?"

Ivan's face grew hot and resembled the red delicious apples that Alfred enjoyed to eat. Alfred grinned at the Russian's reation and tackled the older man. He rubbed the pale blonde's nose affectionately with his, the eskimo kiss making Ivan even more uncomfortable.

"Does Alfred love Ivan?"

"Well, how about this for an answer."

Their lips pressed softly together. This unification of their lips furthured their bond, not as countries but as people. The larger man swooped the American into his arms and marched to the tent. Alfred smirked, knowing that tonight they would become one...

"Is there any picture that won't remind of sex with Russia? Sheesh... I need to stop collecting these weird photos," The blonde tucked the seemingly innocent photo back into the book. He chuckled, making a remark at how his collection of photos would make Ivan's ego soar into space faster than any rockets they've ever made during the space race. He got to his feet to search for any more scattered photos and saw one that slipped under the toy soldiers England gave him.

"Huh, wonder how it flew that far?" Alfred asked himself. After shuffling around his various items, the blonde was able to obtain the far away photo. He examined it and realized it wasn't as old as the others he had picked up. It was less than twenty years old, and it was the first night after the end of the Cold War...

Alfred rubbed his eyes; the American was exhausted. His brother, Canada, was washing dishes and humming his national anthem. It was an odd way to celebrate the end of the Cold War, but Matthew was not going to say anything. He had seen his brother fight in multiple wars such as the Korean and Vietnam war, and conflicts with the Middle East. The only thing that Alfred improved upon was his relationship with China. If anyone deserved a quiet rest, it was Alfred.

"Hey Matt, hope you're not too bored here."

The wavy haired boy shook his head. "Not at all. It's actually amazing to see you like this."

"Like what?"

"To see you so... docile I guess." Matthew got done with the last dish and put it on the designated shelf. He joined his American brother on the couch. Alfred was staring at the television in front of him, the images of the predicted weather on the screen.

"Matt, I don't like my situation right now. I'm worried how he's handling this right now."

"Russia?"

"Yeah, I mean, our countries were at war and stuff, but I still remember his advice he gave me from the civil war..." as America began to remember, he blushed.

"What was it?"

"Just because the countries fight, doesn't mean the people have to."

"So you want to do the same thing you did with England, but now with Russia." The Canadian suggested. He sighed and scooted closer to Alfred.

"Well, yeah... Arthur has only been an older brother to me. Ivan was... closer to me than that. I think he deserves another chance."

"But Alfred, those speeches... I don't want you to break down like that again. To see you cry like that, it made me feel so hopeless."

"So you don't think I should?"

Matthew put an arm around his brother's shoulders. "I think, that it is hard to fix something that was so heavily damaged. Remember the tension between the two of you before the Cold War? When he became communist, he changed. He didn't follow his own advice when it came to your relationship, and you are too kind to give him the effort he didn't."

Alfred shivered slightly. He knew the Canadian was right. If Ivan cared, even a little, he would have in some way try to talk to Alfred...

The blonde shuddered alone in his storage closet. It was a sad memory in the year of 1991. "I know I should trash it, but what the hell," and slipped it back into place. There were two photos to go. The next picture that he picked up showed many nations playing soccer in the park.

"Hey, this is when England proposed to me..."

End of Chapter 2

Yes, this is still a Russia/America story. Read and review please!


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